


Breakdowns

by chainsaw_poet



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Communication Failure, Dialogue Heavy, Post-Season/Series 02, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 16:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainsaw_poet/pseuds/chainsaw_poet
Summary: After Atlanta, Bill and Holden are back on the road again, and things between them have to break further before they start to mend.





	Breakdowns

**Author's Note:**

> Aside from the Atlanta murders, all references to crimes in this story are fictional.

The problem with putting Atlanta behind them - with learning lessons and moving on - was that they were still struggling to finish the report. Holden had written a draft, which Bill had as good as thrown in the wastepaper basket. Then Bill had rewritten it, and Holden had forensically dissected it, until only five sentences remained without neat red lines drawn through them. Now, Wendy had called a meeting to discuss Holden's second try. Judging by her expression, Gregg's nervous glances and the scrawls all over Bill's copy, they weren't any closer to agreement.

"For a successful operation, you've done a great job of making it sound like a complete failure" Bill said, leaning back in his chair, and taking a swig of his coffee. Holden raised his eyebrows and folded his arms.

"You'd call it a success?"

"From the point of view of our objectives, yes," Bill replied, beginning to count on his fingers. "You drew up a profile that turned out to be correct. You came up with the strategy that caught Williams. We made sure to get enough evidence for the local DA to charge him with two murders. And you only managed to piss off half the members of the Atlanta task force while we did all that." Holden rolled his eyes, as Bill continued. "The killings have stopped. It's enough to suggest our methods have merit."

"Two murders out of twenty," Holden corrected. "And none of them children. None of them the murders we were originally called in to investigate, just two of the eleven killings that happened while we were failing to catch Williams. Whom we caught mostly by accident, before proceeding to lose potentially vital evidence from his car."

"We didn't lose the evidence. And it's not on us if the Atlanta DA doesn't want to charge Williams with any of the other murders," Bill reasoned. 

"If they don't, we should be looking at other suspects."

"You know we can't do that."

Holden frowned at the table, stirring his own coffee furiously.

"I know you're disappointed," Bill said, softening his tone slightly.

"I'm not disappointed, I'm angry." Holden leaned over the table towards Bill, pushing his coffee so hard that some spilled over the lip of the cup. "I don't understand why you aren't angry, too."

"It doesn't matter if I'm angry or not," Bill said tersely. "I'm being professional about it."

"What's professional about doing half a job?" Holden snapped.

"Enough, both of you," Wendy said, from the other end of the table. Holden started slightly, as though he'd just remembered other people were in the room. "If either of you want to listen to anyone else, I can tell you that I agree with Bill. In terms of what we're trying to do here, this was a success. The profile fit the person who was indicted..."

"But not yet convicted," Holden muttered.

"You think Williams didn't do it, now?" Bill said, incredulously. 

"I think we shouldn't count chickens."

"I agree that the lack of charges is frustrating, but for our purposes now, it doesn't matter what Williams is convicted of," Wendy said, raising her voice slightly. "Of course, it matters morally," she added quickly, as Holden started to interrupt. "But in terms of the future of the BSU, we've got the best result we could hope for at this moment in time. We need to emphasize that to Gunn - who is already asking where this report is, by the way. He wants to show off the BSU to the higher ups. Promote your good work."

"Promote his vision," Holden added, darkly.

"Quite," Wendy said. "But Gunn seeing us as his personal success story means more money, more staff, and the project progressing. It means we might catch the next Williams more quickly," she said looking at Holden. "Holden, I think there's a way of re-writing this to suggest that a lot went right, despite the fact that you were working with less than optimal support from local law enforcement, and a very... particular political situation."

"Should we really be harder on the local PD?" Gregg asked. "Holden was already pretty critical."

"Appropriately critical," Holden corrected. "It's all true."

"You call them 'beholden to bureaucracy,' 'unwilling to modernize', and, where was it..." Gregg paused to flick through pages. "Here - 'sluggish'."

Holden threw up a hand in frustration.

"It's an internal report!"

"That will be widely circulated," Wendy said. "I take your point, Gregg." She sipped her coffee. "I'm willing to work on a final version of this, which will acknowledge the overall success of the operation, while also noting some of our issues with the ultimate outcome. And I'll moderate some of Holden's vocabulary choices. Can we agree we'll sign off on this next week?"

"Fine by me," Bill said.

Holden glared at Bill, pressing his lips together as though he was stopping himself from saying something, and then shook his head.

"Fine," he said. "Are we done, then?"

"Actually, no," Wendy continued. "We need to look at next steps. I want to get some more interviews booked in, starting next week." She stood up and passed round folders of papers. "These are the candidates."

*****

Holden was back in his office, pouring over Wendy's meticulous case notes on their potential future subjects, when there was a knock at his door.

"Come in."

Wendy peered around the edge of the door. 

"Do you have a minute?"

"Sure," Holden pushed himself back from the desk and gestured to the chair opposite. Wendy closed the door behind her. "If this is about the meeting earlier - if you're really keen to start with Crawford, I'm happy with that. I just thought that Bailey might be a better comparison with..."

"This isn't about the meeting," Wendy said quickly, as she sat down. "Although I'm glad that you've come around on Crawford - I'll get that scheduled right away," she added. Holden sighed.

"So?"

"Bill wanted me to tell you something," Wendy said slowly. "Nancy left him. She took Brian, and went to her sister's."

Holden leant forward on his knees, as though if he just got closer to Wendy, then he'd realise he misheard what she said.

"Nancy left Bill?"

"Apparently, she'd been talking about wanting to move away - try again somewhere new - and then she did. Just without Bill."

"Is it a temporary thing?"

"I don't think so."

"When did this happen?" Holden asked, still looking disbelieving. 

"Towards the end of your time in Atlanta," Wendy said. 

Holden wrapped the finger and thumb of his left around his right wrist, twisting the exposed skin at the end of his cuff, until it stung. The sensation kept him present in the room, stopped the conversation by the riverbank in Atlanta from replaying in his head. He could see Wendy glance downwards at the gesture, and then back to his face before she continued.

"The way Bill tells it, he arrived home and they were gone. Along with pretty much everything in the house."

"He said something about trying to keep his marriage together." Holden shook his head. "But I didn't think things were that bad, even with everything going on with Brian..."

"He told you about that? I wondered."

"I didn't know you knew." As soon as the words left his mouth, Holden wondered why he was so surprised that Bill had confided in Wendy. However close he and Bill had once been, they'd been something between them since Vacaville and Kemper. But Bill and Wendy weren't exactly close either. He'd just assumed that Bill hadn't told anyone at all. Now it seemed like he was the last to know everything.

"A while ago, actually," Wendy said. Catching Holden's expression, she added, "I think he wanted some professional advice about what they should be doing for Brian - and some reassurance. I wasn't sure he'd told you; he didn't mention it."

"In Atlanta," Holden said quickly, not wishing to go into the precise circumstances. "And he didn't want to tell about me Nancy himself?"

"It's not that he didn't want to tell you specifically," Wendy said. "I don't think he wants to talk to anyone about it. He asked me to speak to Gregg, too."

Holden tried not to flinch at that metaphorical slap in the face.

"Good to know that's where I stand," he muttered, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

"Sometimes men find it easier to talk to women about their personal lives," Wendy continued. "Being walked out on by your wife - it's a challenge to a man's masculinity. Telling other men might involve losing face. The stakes are lower talking to a woman."

"I don't think Bill is worried about losing face in front of me," Holden said, a little bitterly. "Not since Gunn assigned him as my babysitter, as he put it."

Wendy looked as though she was beginning to appreciate how some of the conversations in Atlanta might have gone down. 

"You two really did have some heart to hearts." 

"Is there anything I should do?" Holden said. "Or not do. Not mention it at work, I assume? Ask him out for a beer, or over to watch... the game?"

"'The game'?" Wendy shook her head. "No. Just keep an eye on him when you're on the road together. Listen if he wants to talk about it, but don't try to force anything. Look out for any change in habits, or mood, that suggests he might be having a hard time."

"On the road together?" Holden asked. "I thought, with the new staff, we'd each be assigned a rookie." 

Wendy shook her head.

"No one's fully trained yet. I can't risk losing any subjects because people make mistakes. I've drawn up a manual and Bill was looking it over, but Atlanta tied up his time. At the moment, they've been studying the interviews you and Bill did last year and their responses are insightful, but I don't think any of them are ready for the field yet. I'll start proper training while you're away. Hopefully, some of them will be ready for the next round." Wendy paused. "You're ok with going out on the road with Bill, aren't you? Things have seemed a little tense between the two of you over the report."

That was an understatement. 

"Of course," said Holden smoothly, tugging his shirt cuff back into place over the top of the now reddened skin. "Just like old times. And I can look over the training manual, if you like - I've got time."

"Thanks, I'll drop a copy over." Wendy smoothed her skirt as though she were going to stand up and leave, but then stopped. "And is everything all right with you?" she asked, suddenly.

"Me?" Holden made a concerted effort to meet Wendy's eyes with a calm steady gaze. "I'm fine."

"From your reports, it sounds like Atlanta was stressful for both you and Bill. The local cops, the nights watching the river, Williams's charades. And the result - it's not what anyone wanted."

"I'm not going to pretend I'm happy about how it turned out." Holden's heart had started pounding as Wendy made her list, and he willed it to slow down. "But Bill's right - I need to let it go. For the good of the Unit," he added. Inside, he wondered whether such a thing would be possible, even if he wanted to. How could anyone let go, and still do a good job?

"And the panic attacks?" Wendy asked. Holden swallowed, and tried for a relaxed expression - the one he was perfecting with the psychiatrist who refilled his prescription.

"I've been eating better, exercising," he said, trying to ignore the suddenly weighty presence of the pill bottle in his pocket. The corners of Wendy's mouth twitched downwards. It must have been obvious that Holden hadn't really answered the question.

"Are you seeing a therapist?" she tried again.

"Only when I need to. Not for a while." It wasn't entirely a lie. He'd refilled his prescription before he left for Atlanta; around a third of the bottle remained. "I'm finding ways to deal with... stress." No need to say that those involved swallowing two Valium and crouching against a wall until it felt like he wasn't breathing through a straw, and that his heart wasn't going to burst right through his chest with every too-rapid beat. 

"Sounds like you have things under control," Wendy said, a little too mechanically for it to be the truth. "But you'd tell Bill and I if you didn't? 'For the good of the Unit,' as you put it."

"Of course," Holden lied. "But I'm fine. And I will be fine going forward."

Wendy stood up.

"I've had Gregg draw up a schedule and travel plan for you and Bill," she said. "It should be with you by tomorrow afternoon. You leave Monday."

Holden stood up too, even as he knew it was awkwardly formal to do so. 

"Looking forward to it," he said.

Once Wendy had closed the door, Holden drew the bottle of pills from his pocket and held it loosely in his right hand, running his thumb back and forth over the lip of the cap. The plastic was warm in his hand, and the print on the label was beginning to fade. Sometimes if he reminded himself that they were there, that he could open them any time he wanted, that was enough. He'd not taken a Valium in three days now. It would be a shame to break the streak.

Bill hadn't told Holden about Brian until Holden had unwittingly goaded it out of him, and now Bill hadn't told him about his wife leaving him. Atlanta hadn't been easy, but Holden had thought that things were getting better between the two of them towards the end, once they'd had something to work towards rather than a series of leads that went nowhere. Even with all the arguments that had followed about the report, he'd still assumed that he and Bill were ok - or would be, once they'd got some distance from Wayne Williams. At least, as ok as they'd been since Vacaville, which wasn't really ok at all but had been... Enough. Now, he learned that Bill had been going home to an empty house every night for the past fortnight, and he'd never said a word.

Holden tried to think whether he'd noticed Bill staying later or coming in earlier, or being defensive when Gregg asked after Brian and Nancy. Had Holden asked after Brian and Nancy? He couldn't remember. But Bill's response to Atlanta - or lack of a response - seemed to make a lot more sense. Bill had other things to be angry about, and, for him, the worst thing about Atlanta hadn't happened in Atlanta hadn't happened in Atlanta at all.

Holden closed his eyes, and slowly took a deep breath in. He pressed his thumb against the lip of the bottle until his skin went white.

****

Any hopes Holden had of a sea breeze clearing the air were dashed. The summer air in Maine was even closer than in Virginia; during the landing announcements, the pilot had warned them to expect thunderstorms into the evening. Holden's shirt clung uncomfortably against his damp skin as lifted their bags into the back of the rental car. The late afternoon sky was already clouding over. Bill had undone another button at the collar of his shirt. 

When Bill picked Holden up for the drive to the airport, Holden had noticed a collection of take out menus in the passenger-side door that suggested a lack of home cooked meals. But Bill hadn't said anything about Nancy and Brian, although he must have known that Wendy had told Holden. So Holden didn't bring it up. And if Bill noticed the bottle of pills that Holden put with his wallet and keys as they passed through the airport x-ray machines, then he didn't say anything about that either. Neither of them said anything about Atlanta or the report.

Considering everything that had played out in the past few months - everything that Bill hadn't said, and everything that Holden had said and regretted saying - the quiet between them was companionable rather than tense. It was as though they had left the tension over Atlanta back at Quantico. If Bill didn't tease Holden like he used to, he at least offered a light-hearted account of the stories he'd been using to get out of a golfing trip with two men he'd met at the Directors' retreat. Holden, for his part, didn't feel compelled to fill the silences with what he knew was awkward small talk. On the flight, he read his magazine while Bill studied the sports pages. It almost felt like road school again. Only without the projector. 

"Three hours drive, you said?" Bill asked, as Holden climbed into the passenger seat, and unfolded a map over his lap. "They'd better be somewhere open for dinner that time on a Monday night."

"Unless you want to stop on the way?" Holden said. "It looks like a pretty small town. Gregg said he'd booked the only motel." Bill shook his head.

"I'd rather not try to find the place in the dark," he said, eyes glancing up to the clouds. "Especially as it looks like that storm is coming in. You worked out where we're going?"

"Yes," Holden said, tracing a finger along the route. "Looks like there's a coastal section towards the end. Bet the views are good."

"Bet that's exactly what Crawford thought when he dumped the bodies," Bill said, putting the car into gear. 

"You need to follow signs for I-295 North," Holden said, swapping the map for a folder of documents he'd slipped underneath it. 

Bill nodded at the instruction, and scanned the road sign in the middle distance.

"A two hour flight and a three hour drive," he sighed. "Let's hope the bastard has something good to tell us."

Holden looked down at the case file, and let his eyes skim over details that he already knew by heart. Four dead women, all small town prostitutes, all drugged and strangled.The police hadn't made the connection - or hadn't cared enough to look carefully - until the final killing, when they finally suspected it might be the same guy who was dumping women's bodies on the beaches of northern Maine. Even then, he would have probably got away with more if the women hadn't begun to talk amongst themselves, and if one hadn't got a bad feeling about the man her friend picked up and called the cops, who arrived just in time to stop murder five. Once he was hauled in, Crawford had confessed to everything, only to deny it all the next day and claim he was fitted up. It didn't matter; there was enough other evidence to link him to the four murders. But he'd not spoken about them since.

"It's not going to be a wasted trip," Holden added. "We've seen men like Crawford before. Organised - but only to a point. Unable to hold down a steady job, or a steady girlfriend. Unravelled quickly, one he was caught. We know how to make them talk."

"You've got a strategy, then?" Bill asked, smiling at Holden as he took a left towards the interstate. Holden felt a warmth across his cheeks and between the back of his collar and his hairline. 

"Like we discussed in the meeting, it was about control with him. Getting back the control he felt he didn't have in life." Holden shuffled the police report back and a crime scene photo appeared on the top of the pile of papers. "He drugged his victims. Posed and photographed them before and after death. You've seen the pictures; he treated them like puppets. We make him feel like he's pulling the strings of the interview, remind him how good that feels, and he'll answer the questions."

It was good to talk about the work; it meant there was no threat of having to talk about anything else. He and Bill always seemed to be able to communicate better while they were driving. Psychologically, the enclosed space, the lack of an escape route, ought to have made them feel more trapped, but instead it felt more open than the office or a bar. Perhaps that was because this was how they'd done most of their talking to begin with, on the road between small town police stations. Or perhaps it was the illusion of motion, the promise that you were end up somewhere different to where you began, that eventually you'd reach a destination. 

While pretending to be absorbed in the case file, Holden kept a stealing glances at Bill. He looked tired, and older somehow. He didn't hold his shoulders as squarely as Holden remembered. Outwardly, he didn't show any of the signs of the newly separated man. His shirt and trousers were qstill neatly pressed; Bill had done his time in the army, he knew how to iron. There was no spot of as ldddshaving foam under his ear, and his hair wasn't in need of a trim. He'd kept himself together, was doing a good job at carrying on being Bill Tench - just as he had done when Brian had... 

Holden stopped the train of thought that led back to Atlanta, swallowing it deep into his stomach. Look at the road; only think about what's ahead. 

It was then that Holden felt Bill's eyes on him, although by the time he glanced over to the driver's side, Bill was entirely focussed on what was through the windshield. It might just have been a casual glance. Or perhaps Bill was doing the same thing as Holden - looking for evidence of a life that was beginning to unravel.

****

The tire blew out just as they'd passed a sign for Falport town limits. With a loud bang, the rear passenger side of the car dragged outwards towards the verge, jerking Holden sharply against the window and causing Bill to curse loudly. Luckily, the road was almost empty, the holidaymakers and fisherman having started home before short, sharp bursts of rain had begun half an hour ago. Even luckier, the ocean road had a generous shoulder for summer parking and picnics that was empty now. 

"You know this is your fault, right?" Bill said, as he turned off the ignition. 

"How is this my fault?" Holden rubbed at the spot on shoulder that had connected with the window frame, wincing slightly.

"You were just saying what good time we were making." Bill sighed. "Come on, they'll be a spare and a jack in the trunk. You can learn how to change a wheel."

"I know how to change a wheel," Holden muttered, opening his door. "In principle."

The space under the trunk where the spare wheel should have been made Bill curse even louder than the blowout itself. 

"We're never using that fucking hire company again," he said, drawing down the floor of the trunk as forcefully as possible. He looked at his watch, which made Holden check his own. It was already nearly seven. "Do you remember seeing a garage close by?"

"Not one that was open." Holden looked up and down the road, which was still devoid of any traffic. "No pay phones either. Think there's a house we could call from?"

Bill shrugged. 

"Probably. Or we wait for a friendly stranger to drive by and flash our badges."

Holden reached back into the passenger side door and pulled out the map.

"The motel is only about a mile and a half away," he said, laying it out on the roof of the car so that Bill could see. "We could walk it in half an hour, and then call a garage from the front desk. They'd know if anywhere was open this late, or if there's someone who could tow it. And if not, the car will be ok here overnight."

Bill looked at the sky again. 

"You know its going to rain again, right?"

"A little rain won't kill us," Holden said. "Besides, if a car comes, the driver's more likely to take pity on us if it's raining."

"Is this another experiment you've done, or just your infallible instincts?" Bill said, picking up his bag. "All right. Guess I'd rather be walking than waiting." 

Holden gathered his things and waited while Bill locked up the car.

"It's lonely out here," he said, looking out over the ocean. 

"You don't think it can be lonely anywhere?" Bill said.

"Of course, I just meant..." Holden began, still staring at the horizon. Then he paused because, really, he didn't know what he meant, and loneliness didn't seem the kind of subject to pursue. Speaking without thinking was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place - and every time since.

It was then he felt the warm, familiar weight of Bill's hand on his shoulder, steering him back towards the present.

"Come on," Bill said. "Before the rain starts again."


End file.
